


Needles and Needles

by hyenateeth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, F/F, Knitting, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyenateeth/pseuds/hyenateeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My next client,” sighed Éponine. “She’s <i>knitting</i> while she waits.”</p><p>“Oh, that sounds precious.”</p><p>It was precious. Goddammit. So much for keeping things professional.</p><p>*<br/>Éponine is a tattoo artist, Cosette is a customer. There's a history there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needles and Needles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [labellelunaclaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellelunaclaire/gifts).



It wasn’t exactly Éponine’s fault she didn’t recognize the girl right away. She looked different now. For one she wasn’t seven years old anymore. People change a lot between 7 and 21. Éponine certainly did. 

Also her hair was blue now. So there was that. 

But there was something weirdly familiar about the girl who comes into their shop to make an appointment with her, specifically with her. (“I looked at your portfolio online,” she had said in her sweet, delicate voice. “It was between you and R for a while, but I thought your style would be more what I wanted.”) Weirdly familiar, but pretty and nice and if it weren’t professional, she was the type of girl Éponine would flirt with, would try and make her giggle and blush even though she was way out of her league. 

Maybe she had run into her somewhere before. Yeah, that was probably all. 

She wanted a half sleeve, something pretty like sunflowers, something thorny like thistles, and a lark. “Definitely a lark,” she had said, a little bit shy, twirling her long sky blue hair around her finger. “Um, its a little silly, but its. Well my papa sometimes calls me- It’s important, is the point.”

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. She looked at the references, talked designs and colors (“I want lots of colors!” - and it was all Éponine could do not to gesture at her hair and say _Of course you do_ ), and generally kept things business as usual.

Euphrasie, that was her name. Éponine had read it off her ID, having not really caught it when the receptionist, Louison, had told her about the scheduled confrontation. Euphrasie Fauchelevent, a mouthful definitely. 

Still, when the consultation was over and they had scheduled a time when they would both be free, Éponine shook the girl’s hand and said, “Alright, I’ll see you next Tuesday Euphrasie.”

“Oh,” said the girl. “Call me Cosette, actually. Everyone does.”

And then she left, and Éponine’s world imploded. 

* * *

So, the thing was, Éponine had had a pretty hectic childhood. Of course she had. People with face tattoos (even small, pretty, lace pattern ones like Éponine had) did not have normal suburban childhoods.

She was doing pretty well, despite that, though she hadn’t been for a while. It was a long, dramatic story, one she rarely cared to tell, or really think about. 

The important part of the story was that, before things had gotten really hectic what with the eviction and the name changes and the time she had shoplifted shoes for her little sister to go to school in, some idiot let her parents foster a child. 

She had been this scrawny little girl, and Éponine hadn’t really understood what was happening at the time, but she remembered deciding she didn’t like the girl, though now she couldn’t remember why. She had been backed up by her parents, who treated the little girl... 

Well.

After a few years though, a man had come, a giant, Éponine had thought as a child, and then he had taken Cosette with him. Looking back on it, Éponine had always hoped that it had maybe been her father, or a legal adopter, but knowing her parents she wasn’t hopeful. Especially not after her brothers. 

(Chalk it up to another latent horror from her childhood she didn’t fully register until adulthood. If Éponine had a therapist, she was sure they would be having a field day.)

Cosette, had been her name of that scrawny little girl.

 _Cosette_. 

* * *

“Maybe it’s a different Cosette,” said Grantaire, her coworker, cracking open a soda from the mini fridge. Grantaire drank far, far too much Coca Cola, but he was two and a half years sober now, his hands no longer shook when he held a tattoo gun, and he didn’t pass out in alleys anymore, so Éponine helped keep the fridge stocked.

“No, its her. She has these eyes that, I- I thought she looked familiar but I was like well maybe I just bumped into her in the liquor store or something not and... I mean, I wish it weren’t her. God, I was terrible to her. Awful. My parents had me so fucking brainwashed and that’s totally not an excuse but... I was terrible. Why would someone want to be tattooed by someone who treated them like that?” 

Grantaire shrugged. “She looked like she was doing well now. Had that cute soft-spoken hipster thing going on. Maybe she’s over it. Oh, or maybe she’s forgotten. That’s a thing right?”

Éponine groaned. “I wish I could forget.”

If it was her Cosette, it did look like she had gotten out and was doing better than Éponine had been for a while. She was pretty, with a round face, had worn no make up and smiled softly the whole time. 

If it was her Cosette, she looked like she was better. 

Why would she want to see Éponine again?

* * *

She could refer Cosette to someone else. She said she liked Grantaire’s art. She could say something had come up, an emergency, an injury, something. Let Grantaire, who had no relationship with the pretty, blue-haired hipster girl, ink her instead.

Or she could come clean. Cosette didn’t remember her, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t have come to Éponine if she did. So, maybe Éponine should ask her if she knew, jog her memory and let Cosette decide if she was okay with letting her former bully and daughter of the worst people on earth stab ink into her skin for a few hours.

In the end she did neither. 

She drew up a beautiful design, if she did say so herself, and decided not to say shit. If Cosette wanted to not remember her past, that was her prerogative. Éponine just had to keep her head down and keep it professional.

It shouldn’t matter that she knew Cosette, once upon a time, or that now she was pretty and sweet and all Éponine wanted to do was ask her how her life had been, had she made it out okay.

(Éponine hoped she really had made it out okay.)

None of that should matter. All that should matter is that Éponine was a tattoo artist, and Cosette was her client. 

Keep it professional. Right.

Éponine could stay professional. Her job was the world to her. It had saved her life. 

So, she drew a beautiful design pull of flowers and thorns and a lark, flying across the shoulder, and stopped thinking about.

Sort of. 

If she googled Fauchelevent and found what little information there was out there on the aging philanthropist, that was her business.

(A philanthropist. Hopefully, that meant a good man. She was glad. Cosette deserved that.)

So, by the time Tuesday rolled around, Éponine was caught up in tattooing one of her regulars, Bahorel, when Louison popped up next to her. 

“Éponine,” she said, sounding half bored and distracted the way she always did. “Your next appointment is here.”

“She’s 45 minutes early.” 

“Well, she’s here.” 

“Well, tell her to wait.”

“I did.” 

“Well, good!” 

She heard Bahorel snort in laughter, and rolled her eyes. 

“Hey Bahorel, you mind if I take a quick break to go check in with this girl before finishing you up?” 

“No problem boss, gives me a chance to rest a minute anyway.”

Éponine gave him a quick thumbs up, setting down her gun. Bahorel was a good customer, 6 foot 2 with a full beard, tough as nails, had a real thing for antique floral patterns. She had already given him some delicate flowers across his collarbone, and they were currently working on a matching sleeve.

She had asked him about it once. He had shrugged. “I box a lot, and I figure the last thing the guys I knock out see should be some nice frilly flowers. Besides, they make me feel pretty.”

Éponine respected that. 

Quickly she crossed the room of the open tattoo parlor to the waiting area, making eye contact the girl and nodding in greeting. 

“You’re super early. I’m not done with my other appointment yet.”

“Oh!” And Cosette’s cheeks were pink. It was very cute and also a huge problem. “That’s alright, I figured. My dad wanted to drop me off and he had a meeting so like...” She shrugged, messing with her blue hair nervously.

“Well, it will still be a bit. I need to finish up and then set up for you-”

“Oh no, its fine! I brought stuff to work on while I wait.”

“Okay, awesome.” 

She turned away quickly, set to ignore how cute the girl was, in her white tank top and knee length skirt and-

“Oh my god,” she heard Grantaire’s voice cut out across the parlor. “ Éponine, check this out!” 

Rolling her eyes Éponine turned back around and-

“You’re knitting?” 

“She’s knitting!” echoed Grantaire, clearly delighted.

She was _knitting_.

“Is that a problem?” asked Cosette, her cheeks flaming. She was definitely knitting, purple yarn tangled around long needles in her hands. 

“No, no,” assured Éponine quickly, ignoring the way her heart fluttered. It was _definitely_ a problem. A huge problem. It was too cute. It had to be illegal to be that cute. “We- I’ve just never seen someone knitting in a tattoo parlor before. That’s all.” 

“There aren’t a lot of things we don’t see,” said Grantaire, crossing into the waiting area to inspect the girl’s project. 

“Well- I mean I guess its a little weird-” 

“Its awesome is what it is. What are you knitting?” 

“Nothing big, just a scarf.”

“Can you show me how?”

Éponine groaned. “Grantaire, don’t you have your own clients to harass?” 

“I just finished with someone, so not right now, no.” Grantaire grinned at her before taking a swig of his Coke can. Éponine rolled her eyes at him. 

“Whatever. If he’s bugging you let me know and I’ll kick his ass, okay?”

Cosette giggled at that, and yeah, this was a huge problem.

Quickly Éponine shuffled back over to Bahorel, now texting with his free hand, turning back on her tattoo gun. 

“What was that?” Bahorel asked, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“My next client,” sighed Éponine. “She’s _knitting_ while she waits.”

“Oh, that sounds precious.”

It was precious. Goddammit. So much for keeping things professional. 

Éponine could not develop a crush on her client, especially not one who she shared an unsavory past with. Besides, despite that, she barely knew Cosette, not anymore, hell, probably not back then either. 

She could, under no circumstances, develop a crush on Cosette. 

* * *

Except then when Éponine finally finished with Bahorel and was able to show her what she had designed, Cosette got choked up, wiping away quickly forming tears, and that didn’t help anything.

“Its beautiful,” she sniffled. “I love it. Can you do it in one sitting or-”

“Depends on how you sit, but if you can take it, yeah, we can do it all today,” said Éponine, rubbing her own legs nervously. How pathetic. She had never been so nervous about showing a client something she drew since she started tattooing. 

“Well, my first tattoo went really well, so we’ll see I guess.”

“What was your first?” 

“Oh um-” and then Cosette lifted her sandal-clad foot, letting Éponine look. It was a small, pink and purple teapot.

“Its not really meaningful like this one,” said Cosette, shrugging. “I mean? I just thought it would look nice.”

“That’s cool,” said Éponine, because Cosette seemed nervous about that. “I mean, at least half of mine are just cause I thought they’d look nice.”

Cosette giggled again. “I like your tattoos.” And the way she looked at her while she said that she-

“Let’s get this stencil on you and get to work then.” 

It turned out Cosette sat like a rock. Of course she did. She was perfect, apparently. 

“You’re doing well,” said Éponine, wiping away excess ink. “Need anything? Water?”

“I’m good for now. Hey Éponine?”

“Mm?”

“Can you tell me about your tattoos?” 

Éponine paused, setting her gun down for the moment. 

“I already told you, half of mine are meaningless.”

“That means half aren’t. I’ll tell you what mine means, if you want?”

“...You go first.” 

“Oh, well,” Cosette bit her lip a little nervously, but continued quickly. “My papa calls me a lark, I told you that. He adopted me when I was little, out of a bad situation. He was a friend of my mother; I don’t remember her but well... The sunflowers are supposed to be her and my papa. The thistles are supposed to be like... the bad things... and... I know its probably super cliche-”

“No, its fine,” interrupted Éponine, looking down. There was a strange ache in her chest. Cosette remembered, but didn’t remember her. She didn’t know why she was weirdly disappointed. It was better that way wasn’t it? 

She swallowed and composed herself quickly. “My turn then.” 

She held out her arm, covered in a sleeve of black and grey tattoos she has gotten over the years. She pointed to a small, unassuming list of words on her forearm. 

She didn’t have to show Cosette this tattoo. It was practically hidden amongst her other bigger tattoos. 

“See these?”   
“Yeah.”

“Its the first tattoo I ever got.”

“Its the names of my siblings. All of them. I don’t know where my littlest two brothers are. My parents... weren’t great. To say the least. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again, but I wanted to remember them all.” 

Cosette listened to the explanation silently then at the end put her hand over Éponine’s. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Come on, lets get back to finishing this tattoo.” 

Cosette sat for the rest of the tattoo in silence.

* * *

Cosette cried a little again when she saw the finished piece on her arm, and looked at Éponine as if in awe all though her mechanically reciting care instructions to her.

Then she left. 

“She was sweet,” Grantaire said to her pointedly, after Cosette left. “Showed me some stitches. Was real nice about it when I messed up.”

“Mmhm,” was all Éponine said in response.

She would never see Cosette again, with her blue hair and her soft smile and her knitting needles. She was sure of it.

She didn’t know why it made her sad. 

Imagine her surprise, then, when Cosette ended up standing awkwardly outside the tattoo parlor barely two weeks later, waiting to meet Éponine as she got back from picking up her lunch for the day.

“Cosette? Is something wrong with your tattoo?” she asked first thin in seeing the blue haired girl.

“No! No its healing fine! I’ve been doing everything you’ve said. Louison said you were out for lunch but you would be coming back soon.”

“Oh, okay that’s good. Then are you-”

And then Éponine was being cut off by a small, tissue paper bundle being shoved into her hands. 

“For you,” said Cosette, blushing. 

Éponine hesitated, then, not knowing what else do, opened it, carefully unfolding the tissue paper instead of tearing it like she normally would.

Inside was a scarf, a beautiful spring green scarf, bright and lovely. 

“You-”

“I made it for you. I wasn’t sure what color you would want but I-”

“No, its beautiful. I-”

“I have something to tell you,” interrupted Cosette. “I didn’t get my tattoo from you just because I liked your art. Though I do! Of course I do, I love it, just...” 

She dropped her eyes and began wringing her hands, and Éponine’s head was spinning. 

“I... recognized your name. And I know you probably don’t remember me but I was so curious about what had happened to you and-”

“I remember you,” Éponine said quickly, still utterly stunned. “I thought you must not remember so I didn’t- Oh my god you remember? Why- Why would you let me tattoo you; why would you give me this? I was horrible to you when we were kids I-”

Cosette cut her off again, which she was getting very good at doing, by grabbing her hand.

“Its been 14 years Éponine. We were kids. I forgive you.”

Éponine didn’t cry, she never cried. She felt like she was about to cry. 

“You shouldn’t! I-I was so- My parents were-”

“What you parents did wasn’t your fault. And I... Well I told you. My papa got me out. And it looks like you got out too.”

“Well,” was all Éponine said, cause tears were pricking her eyes and she was still clutching the green scarf in her hands, and she probably looked ridiculous. 

Then she laughed a little. “I can’t believe you knitted me a scarf.”

“I like knitting!”

Éponine laughed more. “I’m not making fun of you. Its so sweet. Its too sweet to be real frankly.” 

Cosette’s cheeks turned pink again. “I was just going to get the tattoo and see what you were like now. Morbid curiosity. But I... You’re really cool Éponine. I know we only talked a little but I... I mean, I want to get to know you better, again.”

Éponine thought about it. It was a risk. A huge risk. Cosette was too cute, and too pretty for her, and no matter what she said Éponine knew she hadn’t earned her forgiveness yet, one tattoo didn’t forgiveness make but-

But she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the girl, knitting in the middle of a tattoo parlor, a sweet contradiction. 

So she asked: “Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

Cosette looked surprised, but she smiled, and said “Okay!” 

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> For labellelunaclaire who a. wanted her two passions (knitting and tattoo aus) to be combined in a fic and b. actually did knit while waiting to get tattooed once, much to the amusement of her artist.
> 
> Say hi on my [tumblr](hyenateeth.tumblr.com) (If the link works?)


End file.
